


Our Revolution

by hereformoderato



Category: Dreamcatcher (Korea Band)
Genre: 1930, Alternate Universe - Historical, Drama, Dreamcatcher, F/F, Historical, Historically Inaccurate, More Ships to come, More characters to come, Romance, Spies & Secret Agents, jibo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28689594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereformoderato/pseuds/hereformoderato
Summary: In an occupied Korea, Bora left everything behind to join the elite group that aims to restore the freedom. But does she really know what it means to be free?
Relationships: Kim Bora | SuA/Kim Minji | JiU
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Our Revolution

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing a multichaptered fic in English, which is not my first language. 
> 
> Updates will take time, and me giving up on it can definitely happen. In the meantime, let's enjoy it while it lasts :)

This is not a palace. One could be easily mistaken, though, by the way the light coming out from the chandelier hanged up in the ceiling reflects itself, like a flaming sun, on the the gold that coats details all over the space: every furniture piece, the frames holding invaluable masterpieces up on tall immaculate walls, the sophisticate little figurines scattered here and there, with mystical bucolic motives and mythical neoclassic bodies. All of it shining like a thousand stars.

Observing the people congregated in this infinite room could lead to the same misjudgment: a bunch of politicians, philanthropists, artists –overall, people who have never met the worries of not having enough money in their pockets to afford a daily meal or, for instance, a daily party. Bodies shinning inside long sateen dresses, with gloves and fur coats if needed, and in slick tuxedos paired with the best brillantine groomed hair. Not a single detail missed to convey a sense of unreachable perfection. 

Someone already used to be surrounded by this gold, these dresses and these tuxedos, though, wouldn’t have much trouble to conclude that none of these people have ever belonged to anything close to a monarchy, not even in their past lives. 

Bora can’t be fooled, and that’s because she’s already one of them.

“Bora! My dear, please, come here. Mrs. Han is telling the most exciting stories about her last tour in Europe”. That’s Mrs. Abe, the host, married to Commandant Abe, owner of the villa. The husband barely spends two months away from the military, and so her wife makes up for his absence filling in their place with people whenever she’s not in one of her friends’ house. 

Bora wears a sincere smile while approaching the group of women, some of them in their thirties and some others already stepping on their fifties. Some of them with a family of their own, some others single and not afraid of using the Korean surnames that were given to them when they were born –at least inside these walls. A diverse troop, one could say, given what social gatherings looked like in the Seoul of the 30s.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Abe, everyone”. The young girl, the youngest of them all, makes sure to great everyone with her eyes. “Mrs. Han, I haven’t had the pleasure of attending one of your performances yet but it would be impossible not to admire you after the wonders Mrs. Abe has told me about your voice. It’s a pleasure.”

“Don’t believe anything she says, please. Mrs. Abe is just too good. The pleasure is mine, darling”. Mrs. Han hands her an untouched beverage from the crystal table surrounded by the burgundy velvet couches on which the women are seated, all of them listening attentively to the singer while sharing giggles, gasps, smirks. And so, the night goes on. 

Bora merges herself within the chattering voices, the atmosphere, and smiles, letting herself be embraced by a sense of belonging she thought she was no longer worth of after leaving all her life behind. Family, friends, home. Her days in Changwon have long seemed like a distant memory, a page of an old book she doesn’t need to remember. She rises her sight from the couch, just a slightly bit, and meets the eyes that four years ago convinced her to take the risk to live a brand new life. He smiles back. Their revolution has just began.

This is not a palace, Bora knows, because there was a time in which she had one of her own. Here’s too much noise, too much smoke, not enough perfectly straight backs holding the heads of the most powerful people in Korea and Japan. Some dresses wouldn’t make the cut back there, including her own by the way it holds itself around her neck, both of her shoulders bare now that her long chocolate hair, usually cascading in waves down her spine, remains loosely pinned to the back of her head. The gloves wouldn’t make it easier neither; although they cover her arms almost entirely, they’re too aligned with the current Western fashion trends. 

With that said, by any means this crowd is a powerless one. They just happen to be actively plotting against the Japanese occupation. These people share progressist ideals that are directly opposed to the conservative Asian establishment, the will to revert the status quo imposed by the arms and money of the rising sun. 

It might be naïve, even cynical, to expect a bunch of privileged lucky ones to bring the change that will return dignity and hope to the Korean people. That is, to the same women and men that are currently running across the room tray in hand to make sure no glass runs empty. But there’s no other choice, Bora convinced herself years ago, than to work in alliance. Abundance and poverty, employers and workers from the two countries, hand by hand, to reach their shared goal. The streets fighting with their voice and bodies while institutions, media and culture attack the state directly to its core, from the inside, with ideas, images, words and songs. Because every revolution needs a pinch of poetry. 

“I must say, Mrs. Han’s voice doesn’t sound like anything extraordinary now that she’s not on a stage.”

Bora can hear the curiosity on Seonghwa’s voice. He observes the scene playing before them and lightly relaxes the knot of the silvery tie that hangs on his neck, his free hand holding a heavy glass of old scotch that reflects geometric amber patterns on the flaps of his white tailored jacket. They just took a break, moving to their usual spot at the east wing of the room, because no matter how much they enjoy sharing time and space with such an stimulating troop, their romantic idealism can easily get out of hands.

“Well, that’s to her advantage. We both know how crucial the element of surprise can be, don’t we?”

She doesn’t look back at him, there’s no need. Instead, she plays with her champagne flute, eying the tiny bubbles racing to reach the surface. One of his arms wraps around her slender waist to close their distance smoothly, side by side, and so he leans down to reach her ear.

“Let’s make a good use of it tonight, then.”

Bora watches her husband fly again to the center of the room, a calculated charming smile on display to approach tonight’s target: Mrs. Han is not quite aware of how privileged she is, free to travel around Asia thanks to her gifted singing skills, the money she’s earned with her artistic career and a family name that sits impossibly close to the Chinese royalty. She doesn’t realize neither the power she actually holds, her privileged voice and surname granting her access to the hearts and trust of all the influential people she crosses paths with during her international theater tours. 

Even in her fifties, she really is so innocent. Bora has no doubt, after the chat she had with her and the other guests: the singer didn’t picked on any of the political references she carefully made, too focused on making sure that all the present women could picture the charm and beauty of the male admirers she collected during her last trip. Bora wonders if the twenty year old daughter she keeps on mentioning is aware of her mother’s adventures, or if she can actually see behind the curtain of the variety show of a life she has built for themselves. 

Mrs. Han can’t see the revolution that’s already happening in front of her eyes, and that’s why, by the end of the night, she’s going to exit the villa as the new blind spy of the legitimate Republic of Korea.

“All these years… and her exotic adventures haven’t changed one bit.”

There’s a chuckle coming from the same spot in which Seonghwa was standing barely a couple of minutes ago. A femenine tone, one that Bora can’t quite recognize immediately. The girl that stands next to her doesn’t come as familiar, neither, when Bora turns to face her. She has to lift her sight slightly to reach a pair of eyes that she founds gleaming while observing the crowd, somewhat squinted in an effort to not miss any detail. The stranger sights through a light smile.

“It makes for a good gossip evening, that’s for sure”, Bora answers cordially, her natural charisma present even when she doesn’t try. It’s definitely a skill, a handy one, that she acquired growing up in an uptight household as an attempt to escape the rigid manners and protocol enforced by her mother.

“I wouldn’t doubt it for a second”. That’s unmistakable nostalgia coming from the stranger’s voice, still observing the room for a moment before turning her face to Bora. “You haven’t changed at all, neither.”

There’s a pause. And then it hits her.

She finds traces of powdered blush and navy eye shadow where she would usually find shinning sweaty skin. Long dark hair that used to be always kept in a tight knot was now running free like a black ocean, with carefully styled thin locks framing her forehead to give the sophisticated work a natural finish. A couple of puffy shoulder pieces complement the corseted piece that wraps a slender frame, a silhouette difficult to decipher through the loose white shirts that, on the other hand, would always grant a glimpse of straight, pointy collarbones back in the days. The rest of the dress, all of it pearl white, hanged baggy from the hips till the ankles like a cloud. 

Bora wasn’t supposed to be the one caught by surprise tonight.

“I wish I could say likewise but, Minji… “, she eyes the woman, one more time, from head to toe, unable to find the strength to hide her state of astonishment. Mouth agape, lips curved upwards. “…we both know that would be a lie.”

“I kept my hopes up a bit too much, I see.”

And just like that, the eyes of this girl disappear almost completely behind her eyelids, and the smile that appears on her face replaces the chandelier as the sun of the room.

They both move at the same time to embrace each other, equally excited. Bora can feel the sharpness of a pair of shoulder blades when she presses the girl towards her chest, and wonders how her life has looked like for the last three years. 

She’s thinner, but surely not to an alarming state. Is just that Bora remembers her back to feel harder on her fingertips, the arms pressed around her to be stronger. Has this time been that difficult? And she knows for a fact that there’s no use in worrying about what Minji does and does not, because whatever that is, it’s always her heart who decides to take the risk. But there’s so much a body can take, so Bora hugs her even tighter.

“How…What-“, Bora pauses. She’s still processing the situation, visibly overwhelmed. Something quite unusual coming from her, that seems to amuse Minji given the grin that has appeared on her face.

“Wait. Is Kim Bora losing her words? Just like that?”

“I just…”, Bora catches some air, trying to relax her shoulders. “I don’t know where to start. It’s been so long and you just appear here without notice looking like–“

“Like I actually belong here, right? Did it do the trick?”, she winks at her, looking for some validation.

“You almost fooled me. There’s no better proof than that.”

“Then maybe I should stay here this time. Make myself useful and start collecting strategical information for the revolution”. Minji’s voice rings in a way that leaves no room for Bora to think that there’s nothing more than a joke behind her words.

“I would like to see your sister’s face hearing that right now”, Bora replies, muting a chuckle in the flout she brings up to take a sip of champagne. Mrs. Abe and her husband are two of the most important people of the revolutionary force. Her younger sister, on the other hand, never found the appeal in all these parties, all these facades, even sharing the same ambitions for change and freedom. That’s why Minji has already left her home several times, joining humanitarian missions since she was sixteen. She fights in the same war, but in different battles. “I want you to tell me everything.”

Minji smiles, fondly. “And I want to tell you everything.”

Everything could be too much, Bora knows, given the little time Minji usually spends at home before embarking on her next adventure. “When are you leaving?”

“I am not”, her smile grows even bigger.

“What do you mean you’re not-“

“I’ll go away again. Eventually.” That sounds more like her, Bora thinks. “But for now, I don’t need to worry about my next trip. No one in this room needs to worry, at least for a while”, Minji speaks with certainty. 

Seems like something has changed in the game board, something important. Bora can feel it, and if the brunette is confident about the moves made by the revolution, so is her. She’ll ask about the details later. 

“We have time", Minji stops Bora's train of thoughts. "Should I begin?”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Twitter: @hereformoderato


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